


A red dawn

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Through dooms of love [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dear Tyelpe: Sorry about your life, M/M, descriptions of torture, psychological mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A red sun rises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A red dawn

The early morning sun was rising over the distant peaks, and Celebrimbor closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the edge of the window, perched half-dressed on the windowsill. 

A sigh came from the bed, followed by Maeglin’s low voice. “You look well, dressed in sunlight.” 

Celebrimbor smiled and opened his eyes, turning to look as Maeglin propped himself up on his elbows to regard him. “It’s a red sunrise.” 

“A portent,” murmured Maeglin, as the sun crested the horizon and reflected brightly in his pale eyes. “Come back to bed.” 

Celebrimbor hummed and lounged back on the windowsill. “Join me here. It is a beautiful morning.”

Maeglin slid from the bed, naked, and walked lightly to the window, wrapping his arms around Celebrimbor’s waist and resting his chin on Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “Not as beautiful as you.” 

Celebrimbor laughed. “Sentimentalist.” 

Maeglin smiled against Celebrimbor’s skin. “I speak the truth. How is that sentimentality?"

Celebrimbor leaned back against him, enjoying the feel of Maeglin's bare chest against his back. "If you wish to be sentimental, wax poetic about the sunrise."

Maeglin raised his eyes to the horizon. "The sun is over-rated; you know how I prefer the night. It is interesting, Celebrimbor, I thought you more curious than this."

Celebrimbor frowned, confused by this last statement. “Sorry?” 

"You never asked. Did you not wonder what I endured? Do you not want to know what they did to me?” 

Something felt wrong, now, and Celebrimbor stiffened in Maeglin's arms. "I - "

“They plunged brands to my skin.” 

Celebrimbor tried to turn, but the arm around him was suddenly iron hard, and he couldn’t move. 

“I was scrawled with the marks of Angband when I returned to you. Overlaid with glamour, but still…how they burned.” Maeglin’s voice dropped to a thoughtful whisper. “They burned on, unceasing, day and night.” 

Celebrimbor gasped for breath as the iron arm tightened around his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. 

“They peeled the skin from my back with great care,” Maeglin murmured. “And what they flayed from me, they fashioned into ornaments, with which they adorned me. Skinned, but dressed in my own skin, oh, how they laughed...” 

“No,” Celebrimbor gritted out. “Stop…” 

“They tormented me with you for a while,” Maeglin went on, ruminatively, “and I cursed them for it, though later, I wept… But they soon learned that you alone were not enough to break me.” Light lips closed around Celebrimbor’s ear. “They found a deeper secret than you.  _She_  was enough.  _She_  could break me, like love of you – weak as it was – couldn’t. The promise of her, more than any image they could show me of you, beloved, was enough.” 

Celebrimbor tried to curse, but it came out as a cracked sob. 

“And so I returned to you,” mused Maeglin, nuzzling into Celebrimbor’s neck. “Returned, my brands hidden, my skin regrown, but still, in the night, how it  _burned_ …And I returned to your arms, to your bed, but my mind was ever fixed on the promise of  _her._ How could you ever think you’d be enough for me to forget her? Poor, foolish Tyelperinquar…” 

He bit at Celebrimbor’s throat, the light, teasing nips he knew Celebrimbor liked, and laughed. “And love of her burned me from the inside, and the brands from the out, and so it went…until the end.” His lips brushed Celebrimbor’s cheek. “Shattered on the rock.” 

At last his grip loosened, and Celebrimbor wrested himself free, choking for breath, heaving, shaking. He slid from the windowsill, his legs too weak to support him, falling to his knees before Maeglin. A long pale hand, familiar with its callouses, took his chin gently and raised his face. Maeglin smiled down at him, dark hair loose over his bare shoulders. 

“You could avoid my pain, beloved, if you but speak. What does it matter? You are already as much a traitor as I.” 

Maeglin bent to kiss his forehead, and when he pulled away, his long eyes shone gold, and his voice echoed oddly, as if two spoke as one. 

“Where did you send them, Tyelpe?” 


End file.
